The Worgen Druid's Inferno
by Morbidclaw
Summary: His name used to be Tercel Duskclaw, but a string of events led to him being known as Khizanth, a druid who couldn't be trusted or saved. Anyone who tried to get near him was pushed away, and those he tried to get away from, sought him unrelentingly. This is the redemption story of a worgen druid who had fallen from grace, just to get up and fight again, this time for justice.
1. Chapter 1: The Departure

**Chapter 1: The Departure**

**Author's comment: This is the story of a worgen druid who has a lot of inner strife to deal with; it is loosely based off of an RP I did some time ago. If this story garners any interest from viewers, I will keep writing until there is a conclusion to the events that transpire within.**

**This story might be confusing if the reader has not done the Firelands raid that came out in Cataclysm, and is based on the events that happened during and after that particular raid. There are no mentions of the Dragon Soul raid, as in this timeline, those events are years down the road.**

**In this story, the Fire Druids / Druids of the Flame are Ragnaros's esteemed soldiers, and hold as much weight as any of his other elemental generals. The Fire Druids are directed by a central leader, Fandral Staghelm, and organized like a military brigade.**

* * *

Khizanth was almost to his favorite hunting grounds, when he heard thunderous booms in the distance. The wind was picking up, and it wouldn't be long before the downpour would begin. The sudden change from the perfect weather earlier in the day seemed like a negative omen to the druid.

Within minutes, rain drops besieged the earth, and the dry earth became one endless mud puddle. Khizanth's mood went from neutral to sour, and he found himself backtracking to where he had seen the entrance to a small cave earlier in the day. It took less than half a minute for the druid to become fully drenched, as he searched for shelter.

It took about ten minutes for the worgen to find the cave entrance which was barely visible, with all the plant growth nearby. After a quick inspection of the outside of the tunnel, the druid entered, and shook himself off. Khizanth quickly scanned the interior of the cave and saw the main tunnel extended past the mouth of the cave about forty feet into the earth, before ending in an unremarkable wall of gray stone. The druid sighed loudly, throwing his pack onto the ground and finding a rock to sit on. The outside world was easily visible from his seat, so the druid contented himself to watch the rain falling outside, which had increased to thunderstorm intensity.

It didn't take long for the worgen's thoughts to wander, and he found himself questioning recent events that had happened in the past day and a half. He had agreed to aid a paladin, Morzon, of the Order of the Light, on mission to find a missing individual. Both the paladin and he had set about packing for the journey, but at the last moment, the druid had excused himself for a few days, to take care of personal 'business'. At first, the idea of traveling thousands of miles on a grand adventure had seemed exciting, but doubt had invaded the druid's mind. What would transpire if one or both of them were grievously injured? The worgen had no intent to die on some cross continent adventure, which seemed unplanned and reckless. Why send two people who barely knew each other, to go confront a person that was under suspicion of being an accomplice to the bombing at the Order's headquarters?

A loud thunder crack brought the druid out of his musings for a few moments, and for a second, he thought he saw the outline of a person at the cave opening. The worgen waited a few seconds to see if anyone would appear, but was rewarded with the continued downpour of rain. Khizanth leaned against one of the walls of the cave and continued to ruminate. Unless the weather cleared up in a few hours, he would most likely be spending the night in this tunnel.

The paladin seemed sincere in all of his words, but the druid knew well enough that the look that his companion had was one borne out of something more than friendship. Khizanth growled, running his claws across one of nearby rocks, leaving gouges. He had limited experience handling friends on a long term basis, let alone a relationship with more complex feelings. He had chased Bulrathi away, one of the only people who seemed to give a damn about him, sending her on an errand to find people from his past. The idea that she had found qualities in him that were attractive had almost outraged Khizanth, and the druid had cited several reasons to not have feelings for her, after all that had happened in the war.

It took more than a few minutes for the druid to justify to himself that separating his path from Morzon's was the right choice, and the longer he delayed, the more a voice in the back of his mind screamed at him. Khizanth grabbed his pack and fished out a few blank parchments, a quill and an inkwell.

"I am sorry that I have not been available for the past two days, but I have decided that there are some personal demons I need to conquer on my own. There is a chance I might no longer be among the living before I complete my task, so we may never see each other again. Thank you for your kindness, but now we must part ways. I wish you luck on your endeavors. Signed – Khizanth"

The worgen held the note in his hands for a long time, staring past the paper into space. After a time, he fell asleep, the din of rain in the background continuing for many hours.

When the druid awoke, he wiped the slobber from his jaws, and put the note into his pack, getting ready to leave for the trade district of Stormwind. The rain had abated, and the druid had a knot in his stomach as he exited the cave. In a flash of light, where the worgen once stood, there was a four foot tall storm crow, feathers as black as night, with some lighter gray feathers just around his eyes and wing tips. The bird leapt into the air, and quickly flew onwards to the human capital city.

Khizanth touched down at the trade district, about a half block from the auction house, and very near to one of the several banks located throughout Stormwind. No one paid him any mind, from the vendors loudly peddling their goods, to the random citizens and adventurers walking the streets. For just a moment, Khizanth felt like he was one of them – another nameless person within a bustling city.

Sometimes when the druid shifted from his forms, a hint of flame could be seen, betraying where his loyalties had set, back during the war in the Firelands. The flames would break his illusion of being a normal druid for a few seconds, but it was a quick reminder to Khizanth, that he was one of the few Flame druids left alive.

The worgen quickly mailed his note to the Paladin, and turned to head towards his home on the outskirts of the Stormwind. He was renting a small cottage, and now that he was planning to disappear from anyone's radar, knew it was time to pack his few belongings and vanish. In the back of the druid's mind, he also knew there was a good chance Bulwrathi would find at least one, if not two of the people he had mentioned, so a low profile was keen.

Khizanth approached his rented home and opened the front door, knowing he would miss the creature comforts it provided – a warm bed and a place to store a few scant belongings. The house was simple, being nothing more than a living room with a fireplace, which led upstairs to a small bedroom and several adjoining storage rooms. Everything was built simply – but each of the storage rooms had powerful wards on it, so that the renter could store belongings securely.

The druid approached the first of the three closets, and pulled out a ruck sack and several pouches, some filled with herbs and others with currency, designed to go on his belt. He then grabbed two sets of spare town clothes, folded them and placed them in the ruck sack. The druid then grabbed a set of daggers and wrapped them in a towel, before also placing them in the bag. The druid closed the first closet and then opened the second, the magical ward breaking with a loud snap. In this room, the druid stored his Fire druid issued staff – an exact copy of Fandral Staghelm's staff. As he had with the daggers, Khizanth wrapped a cloth around the blades of the staff, concealing its appearance. He slung the staff on his back and then reached for the only other item in the storage area – a small pile of books, with an enchanted cloth draped over the top. These tomes were some of the last texts saved from Fandral's massive library, before it was burned. Cenarian druids saw many of the teachings as heretic, and were afraid that the knowledge might spread to younger druids, ignorant to the atrocities that had happened in the Firelands.

Satisfied he had everything, the druid departed the small abode, and shifted into his flight form. With an avian cry, the storm crow flew towards the Hyjal portal located at the outskirts of Stormwind, and crossed through it, not even bothering to greet the Night Elf guards which were posted nearby.


	2. Chapter 2: The Firelands Part 1 of 3

**Chapter 2: the Firelands Part 1**

**Author's Note: This chapter fast forwards to six months in the future. Hopefully this doesn't confuse too many people.**

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Six months had passed, and Khizanth had never set foot back in Stormwind City, paranoid he would run into someone from the Order of the Light. The organization may have been small compared to some guilds, but there was always that chance that a passerby would have identified the druid for whatever reason. Khizanth, who had buried his real name under years of disuse, did not want to be found on a whim.

Khizanth did what he thought was appropriate, taking his time to return to the Firelands. He felt drawn there by an unseen force, but it was not a calling that clawed at the insides of his brain. The druid did occasionally worship Ragnaros, but only when he felt that his life was in peril and he had no other options. He would ask for strength when he assumed his cat form, and clarity of thought, but he never promised anything other than a healthy respect for the elements of fire.

The druid had crossed through one of the several portals that lead into the Firelands, into an area called the Breach. This area had been the nerve center for the Cenarian Circle when the war against Ragnaros had been in full swing. The druid remembered where he had been stationed, but never bothered to investigate if anything of the camp was left. If there had been anything of value, it would have been salvaged years ago. The worgen felt oddly at peace stalking around the Breach, knowing full well that none of the creatures that called these heated confines home, would show him any mercy, should they cross paths.

Khizanth found a place to sleep in a small den that had belonged to some core hounds, living off of what little he could find to eat. In the months he had lived here, he had lost a bit of weight, going from 700 pounds, to almost 600. The small snakes, grubs and mammal-like creatures he caught were barely palatable, and the larger creatures like the molten spiders, completely inedible.

The druid spent his days constantly in fire cat form, exploring the different nocks and crannies of the place he now called home, ceasing to care about much outside of day to day living. People and places seemed so distant, with the druid's dreams being the only constant reminder that there was a reality outside of the breach. Many nights, the druid would have nightmares about the people he cared about, as few as they were, being torn to shreds.

It was another morning in the Firelands as far as Khizanth could tell, and he went about his daily routine of attempting to find sustenance. He caught a few snakes and a grub or two, and contented himself to go exploring by a lava stream. An odd scent had crossed his nostrils, and immediately, the druid was on high alert. Whoever was skulking about, wasn't native to the Firelands, nor was it a druid.

Khizanth shifted into the shadows taking care to remain hidden, until his senses could tell him what was approaching his territory. It didn't take long for the druid to find out what the strange scent was, as the closer he got, the more pungent it became. Peeking out from behind some rocks that were about twenty feet away, there was a large Dranei patting his decomposing mount on the head. Whatever that flying creature was, it was a rotting mass of feathers, with some armor and a saddle slapped on it. The creature's eyes burned with an unnatural azure light and its wings were bare of any flesh. The owner was muttering to himself, grabbing supplies from the saddlebags.

Whoever this Dranei was, he appeared to be a Death Knight, intent on finding someone or something. Khizanth eyed the large sword on the man's back, the blade covered with a row of icy-blue runes. The armor the Dranei donned was also unfamiliar to the druid, but it looked like it had seen many battles.

The druid became very uneasy, even though he was prowling and decided to observe the Death Knight for several more minutes, before deciding on a plan of action. Since Khizanth never left cat form, he constantly wore his battle gear and weapon – but he knew nothing of what this particular fallen knight's abilities, and his general knowledge of them was limited. He remembered stories that had been told by his fellows from when he had been in the Cenarian Circle, but they had seemed unbelievable. Death Knights, Khizanth had been told, could raise the dead, or grab enemies from afar, slowly choking the life out of them. Instead of merely hacking their enemies to pieces, these knights could also infect their hated enemies with numerous diseases, forcing prisoners to suffer for any amount of time. The druid shrank back into the shadows, fear starting to take hold of him. Was there the slightest chance he was looking for Khizanth?

When the Dranei turned around to ensure he wasn't going to be flanked, Khizanth was barely able to register what he was seeing. The face of the dranei was stitched heavily, but it was also apparent from the man's movements, that he was a mix of at least two races, stitched together by some unholy power. Half of the face was Night Elf in origin, but the other half was from an unknown Dranei. It didn't take but a moment for Khizanth to realize who he was looking at - Darlock Ironfur, one of his old party mates from the war. As if the Death Knight knew he was there, the patchwork of a man howled loudly, an ungodly roar echoing off the rocks for long seconds.

"I know you are here, hiding like the coward you are!" The voice was full of malice, and reverberated unnaturally.

The druid refused to move from his hiding spot, unsure of what to do.

"You don't want to come out? Are you afraid of ol' Darlock? I'd give you a bear hug, but it appears that the calling of Elune has left me!" The voice was mocking now, but still full of hatred.

The worgen considered moving deeper into the Firelands at this point, but knew the dangers would rise, ten or even a hundredfold.

More time passed, and the Death Knight seemed unsure if the speech had fallen on deaf ears. He motioned to his mount to follow him, and the pair started trekking deeper into the breach. It was dumb luck that the knight had chosen a route that led directly to where the worgen had been sleeping for the past several months.

Khizanth perched himself up on a large rock, which put him about three feet off the ground, and revealed himself. The fire druid sat on his haunches, and looked coldly at the Death Knight, as he was slowly walking away from him.

"What do you want, Darlock?" The druid's voice was painful to use, as he had barely spoke in half a year, with no one to talk to, save the occasional creature he sneered at, before he ate it.

The man spun around with surprising grace, not bothering to reach for his two handed sword, while his loyal mount stopped at his side, ready to execute his master's orders.

"I want you to suffer. I want you to beg for mercy. Then," the Death Knight paused, smirking," I want you to die."

_-Flashback to the Breach during the war, when Khizanth had first been assigned to his party, to deliver messages in service of the Cenarian Circle._

_"You're a bit small for a worgen, aren't you, Tercel Duskclaw?" A tall male Night Elf was looking at the just-fledged druid, giving him a reassuring look. _

_"Erm… I guess. Are you the team leader?" Tercel looked around the Breach, still unable to grasp he had been assigned to the front lines of the war against the Firelands._

_"Yes. My name is Darlock Ironfur, but you may call me Darlock. Don't worry; by tooth and claw, I shall protect the group from harm. Do your duty to Elune and Cenarius, and we shall overcome these trying times." _

_The worgen had been amazed at the charisma of this Guardian druid, as he continued to speak about walking the same path of Malfurion and the other great druids._

_"I will do my best. When will I get a chance to meet the rest of the party? I've barely settled in and already there are talks of our team going out on missions!"_

_"Very soon, do not worry." Darlock said with a chuckle. _

_End flashback—_

"You have no idea how much pain and suffering you caused back during the war!" Darlock screeched, as he pointed a gloved hand accusingly at the worgen.

The druid flicked his tail in annoyance, snarling, his fiery mane blowing slightly in the wind. "Everything causes pain. Will ending me truly bring you peace? Will it bring back those you lost in the war?"

The patchwork Dranei/Night Elf shrugged, and unslung his sword, making a gesture for his mount to remain where it was. "No, but I have waited years to bury my sword in your carcass, and to finally watch you pay for your traitorous crimes. You see what I am? This is your fault, you piece of garbage!"

The Death Knight assumed a balanced fighting position, and with a low growl, charged towards Khizanth. A quarter of a second before the knight would have smashed the fire cat's face with his sword, Khizanth leap forward, gliding over the Death Knight as he pulverized the rock the druid had been sitting upon. The Death Knight whirled around, swinging his two hand sword with great anger, but met only air. He glanced to his right, then his left, seeing the druid facing him, about fifteen feet away, eyes burning with a cool fire. Was it the Death Knight's imagination, or had the druid lost noticeable weight?

"Fight me!"

Khizanth bared his fangs. "I sent Bulrathi to find you, in hopes that I could seek atonement for past happenings. I've left behind friends to live a life of solitude, not to continue waging a war that's done."

The Death Knight shifted his right hand from his sword and into the air, in a cupped fashion. "I am glad I was informed you hadn't died after the war tribunal had passed – unlike you, I didn't save some random druid from death to be let off the hook."

Khizanth yowled in surprise when he felt himself being dragged towards the Death Knight. With nothing solid to grasp onto, the druid found himself flying through the air towards the former Cenarian druid's sword.

The flame druid had only a few scant seconds to react, so he concentrated on calling on the few plants that lived in the Firelands. Molten roots erupted out of the ground and latched onto the wrists of the Death Knight, but they were small and pathetic, as trees were a rare sight on the planes. That small shift in weight was enough for the Death Knight to drop his sword, buying the druid a few precious seconds to avoid being skewered. The druid managed to land on his front paws, and steady himself, just feet away from the knight. He raised a paw out to slash the elf across the chest.

_-Flashback to several months after Khizanth had arrived at the breach, and had gotten to know his party on a more personal level._

_They were good friends, and they relied upon each other to get their job done, be it patrolling the boarders of the Cenarian camps for threats, or delivering messages from the main base to outlying camps. Darlock had proven himself to be the stone that stood against their enemies, protecting them with his life. Tercel had been the clever feral druid that had rendered his enemies to ribbons, along with their female Night Elf Moonkin, Sharsbak Songfeather, who sent down beams of Moonfire and Starfire, to obliterate their enemies. There was the strange restoration druid, Yevan Riverstone, who made up the final member of the team. _

_After a particularly brutal battle, which left the four of them barely alive, they had all exchanged vows to never forget the horrors of the war, and to never leave anyone behind. Many messenger teams had been ambushed by fire druids in the past weeks, and this pushed the Circle to send out what teams were left alive, more often to deliver important news. At some point, Tercel was beginning to feel the war was pointless. _

_"Darlock, I have to confess, I have wanted to seek leave of this place for some time. It's only been a few months, but my mind is slowly starting to leave me."_

_"War is the price of peace. If we do not fight, who shall fight for us?"_

_Tercel considered his next words, words that would haunt him for years to come. "It's not my war, Darlock, and it never was. I am here because my hand was forced, not because of a greater calling."_

_Had it been coincidence that Yevan had walked outside, over to the small rest area in the Cenarian camp at this very moment? The large tauren frowned at the words he had heard and joined the worgen and night elf. "Why do you say such things, Tercel? This war is like a raging storm, threatening to destroy us all. If we scatter, it is only a matter of time before we will fall."_

_Tercel remained silent, and Darlock and Yeven just stared at each other, shaking their heads._

_"Are you still with us, Tercel?" Darlock's words hung in the air for long seconds._

_The worgen looked at both of his friends, his team mates, and nodded slowly. "Yes…. Of course I am. I need some time alone to ponder some things." _

_End flashback—_

Khizanth's paw solidly caught Darlock in the chest, knocking the wind out of his opponent, causing him to stagger backwards. The druid prepared to leap onto his foe, to try to pin him; he knew he had to get that rune blade away from the Death Knight, if he was going to have any chance to subdue him. The worgen couldn't understand how someone as friendly and mission-oriented as Darlock could fall so far.

"What happened to you? I know that the Fire Druids eventually captured you, but they… they never left you as a handout for the undead legions."

"I find it amusing that in the face of impending doom, you seem to care about what happened to me!" The Death Knight recovered his balance as the former flame druid spoke, and started to weave together an immobilization spell.

Khizanth glanced around him, as blue chains appeared out of thin air, creating a very cramped prison. The druid touched one of the chains and jerked back, the coldness eliciting a painful sting.

"After my 'introduction' to the Fire druids, it did not take long for me to realize the untold amounts of power I could have, following their faith," the Death Knight laughed, "But like all good things, even the age of the Fire druids came to an end, and without a single good deed to stand by, also faced the same tribunal you did. I however, wasn't granted the same leniency as you."

Darlock moved towards the chains of ice that he had summoned, reaching a hand towards the druid, in order to drag him to some nearby rocks, so he could torture him.

Khizanth watched the Death Knight's movements closely and bared his teeth, threatening to bite his hand, should it come within reach. "So you willing joined them?" Khizanth's shame for his past actions was starting to be replaced by bitterness. He quickly shape shifted into his storm crow form and managed to jump 5 feet in the air, from a few powerful thrusts of his wings. Although his pinions hit the sides of the chains, causing sparks to fly in all directions, the druid had no desire to be the preverbal fish in a barrel.

The Death Knight glanced around him, to see where his mount was in comparison to the druid and screeched at it. The undead creature spread its wings as its master looked at it, and began galloping towards the fight.

"Minion! Get that Cenarius-cursed bird!"

The druid flew to ten, then twenty feet in the air, feverishly trying to construct a plan to get rid of both the Death Knight and his mount. West led to his den, east lead back to the entrance of the Breach, north lead to a series of large mesas and rocky mountains, while due south lead towards molten pools and caves that went underground. The druid had to make a decision soon, because he could not keep dodging the increasingly aggressive moves of the now airborne, undead mount. Maybe in that state of undeath the bird couldn't feel fatigue, but as stressed out as Khizanth was, he knew he would tire long before his aerial foe would.

Darlock was screaming at the top of his lungs for his minion to bring Khizanth down, but the druid barely heard him, and started heading north out of desperation. It had been far too long since the worgen had exercised his wings in his fiery storm crow form, and his flight was erratic. The air currents of the fire planes were not always predictable, and a wrong move could mean careening into the ground or stalling midflight.

It wasn't more than a mile to get to the rocky hills, but to Khizanth, it felt like he was flying a marathon. As soon as he reached the rocky sanctuary, the druid knew that one wrong move would be his downfall. His flight was perilous, proven by the fact that within a timeframe of 10 seconds, he had almost pancaked into a rock face twice. When his primary feathers brushed against the wall, Khizanth would over correct and find himself ready to impact into the opposite wall. He wasn't sure what lived down these rocky crevasses, but his question was answered in short notice as red webbing began appear on different walls, and even above him.

All it took was a moment of distraction, and Khizanth had flown into a web that had managed to stop him dead in his flight path. I'm dead, the druid thought, as he struggled to rip his wings, or any part of himself, from the webbing. He had to get free now, or he was going to get torn to pieces by a rabid, undead bird-creature.

A few seconds passed, and the heavy wing beats of the undead mount could be heard, as it approached. Khizanth looked around him, as best he could, a saw another hanging web which appeared to be directly in the mount's path. With just enough luck, maybe that decaying excuse for a minion would get itself stuck, and even eaten. The druid began to laugh at the idea of the Death Knight's pet getting consumed, until it occurred to him that whoever owned the web, would not stop at the mount, but would turn its focus to him. This line of thinking renewed the druid's struggles to get free.

As Khizanth had predicted, the undead griffin-creature had gotten stuck in a web similar to his, but with thicker strands. The druid groaned and stopped trying to rip himself free for a few seconds, studying the sticky webbing. As far as he could tell, there appeared to be droplets on certain strands, causing anything that touched them, to get stuck on the web.

The mount continued to struggle and make random sounds as it tried to free itself, making sure to shoot furious glares at Khizanth every few minutes. After ten minutes of listening to the creature scream, Khizanth finally shifted back into his fiery cat form and roared at the top of his lungs, for the minion to be silent. As if the creature finally realized it was out of sight of its master, it quieted down and lay on the web as if it had truly died. The druid could now see that the bird had webbing all over its bones, and was several times more tangled than him.

_-Flashback to the last Cenarian mission Khizanth had been on, during the battle of the Firelands._

_"We're surrounded!" Tercel yelled, holding his ground in cat form. He didn't need to see the looks on his companions' faces as he knew that they were fatigued. Every mission that Darlock, Yevan, Sharsbak and he had been assigned to had been ambushed; that made up three missions in this week, alone. _

_"Think not of the mind games, friends, or we will not live to see another day!" Yevan said, casting healing auras on his party mates._

_"Cenarius, give me strength!" Darlock shouted, shifting into his bear form, roaring to show he wasn't afraid of his enemies. _

_Sharsbak stayed close to Yevan, ready to defend him, should anyone get too close. At this very moment, seven hostile druids were surrounding the group of four, odds which the team had never faced before. Without warning, three of the Fire druids engaging the party, while the other four watched from several feet back._

_Tercel eyed one of the Fire druids approaching from behind, furthest from Darlock's vision, and roared in a savage manor, before leaping towards his enemy. The jump had been misjudged, and he had hit nothing but sandy dirt. He looked up in time to see Darlock run over the first druid, and render his stomach asunder, blood and gore flying everywhere. It was apparent that blood lust had taken over, and Ironfur was on a killing rampage._

_Tercel tried to steady himself, but as soon as he attempted to get up, saw that one of the flame druids was standing over him with her bladed staff aimed at his head. The Night Elf towered over him and laughed as if she had gone completely insane._

_"Going somewhere, Cenarian worshipper?" Tercel didn't dare move, straining to watch what was going on with his party mates._

_"Sharsbak!" Tercel screamed, momentarily forgetting that he was at the mercy of a crazy elf, as he watched his party mate call down a moon fire beam. One of the flame druids had started channeling a spell that was aimed at Songfeather and she seemed completely oblivious to it, fully intent on aiding Darlock, as he mauled a foe that had gotten into melee range. Songfeather slowly registered Tercel's voice in her mind, but it was too late – a large fireball erupted from the Fire druid's hands and hit her in the chest. She grasped at her chest, clawing at the fire that was quickly cooking her alive. Her deathly screams only lasted a few seconds, but echoed in Tercel's mind for minutes. The worgen couldn't watch her last moments, as her lifeless body hit the ground, refusing to accept that one of his team mates was now dead. _

_Somewhere on the edge of his vision, he could see Darlock was beginning to lose against his foes. Two flame druids were dead at his claws, but four more closed in on him. Yevan was healing with more ferocity that he had in days, weaving in offensive spells when he could, but tiring quickly, sweat pouring down his face. _

_The worgen had no words anymore, just a sense of dread that he too would die out here, forgotten. Tercel saw that the druid who had him pinned down was distracted, so with as much strength as he could muster, he rammed his skull into the flame druid's gut that was guarding him. He knew he broke at least two to three of the female flame druid's ribs with that act, but didn't care; he had to get out of here alive. The Elf's cry of pain was distinct enough that heads turned to see what caused the noise._

_Darlock had been the first to snap back to the reality of what was going on. "COWARD! Get back here!" _

_Tercel couldn't bring himself to turn around, and kept running._

_"You shame us all, worgen…. " Yevan called out, the rest of his sentence lost with the distance that Tercel Duskclaw was putting on. _

_Shame. Guilt. Pain. These things barely registered to Tercel, as he shifted from his cat form, directly into his storm crow form, to try to make it back to one of the Cenarian camps. Already, lies were forming in the worgen's head, of how to explain his friends' deaths…._

_End flashback—_

End.


End file.
